The Palaver of Verisimilitude
by des souvenirs
Summary: Boy meets girl. Or rather, Han meets Eddie. Han/OC, pre-Tokyo Drift.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

He remembered the first time he saw the boy.

Races were a thing in the Tokyo underground, more so than in America. Music that no one listened to but against which everyone bobbed their heads or grinded their hips somehow managed to weave through the heat of sweat and humidity, reverberating against the parking garage's concrete walls in a way that made every crap technopop track echo back on itself. The fluorescent lighting was unflattering, the air smelled like diesel and burnt rubber, the people were too young and too proud to be taken seriously, but half of the city and his neighbor showed up, anyway.

People would call it a successful night.

He had two models tucked securely under each arm—all of them dressed for stripping in Vegas and buzzed on the cheap beer—and the boy had disappeared under a car hood.

Again.

He had been watching the boy for the better part of the past hour or so, a result of predictable races and, as lovely as the ladies were, uninspiring company. Although if he was going to be honest, the boy's work tweaking engines was boring, too. Nothing he hadn't seen before. The boy worked methodically and quietly, keeping his tools lined up on the floor by size and his small mouth shut; the only time he opened it was to yawn.

 _Must be past his bedtime._

He briefly wondered if the boy's mother knew her son took part in a very extensive, very illegal street racing network but then figured boys like him probably didn't have mothers who cared that much. Many of those kids drifted in and out of his employment until they either found better jobs or hightailed it out of Tokyo. The boy probably wasn't any different. Nothing special.

Come of think of it, he couldn't remember why the boy had caught his attention in the first place.

"Han?" A pair of stickily glossed lips trailed under his jaw. Manicured fingernails slipped under his shirt and up his back.

It didn't matter. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

* * *

The second time he saw the boy was about a week later.

"Han."

He met Takashi a few steps out of his car, shaking hands and clasping shoulders with an easy smile and a bundle of cash in his jacket pocket. Not all of the cash, of course, but enough of it that Takashi wouldn't notice the difference. "Hey, man."

They went to Takashi's office in the back of the garage—cramped little thing where Takashi worked when he wasn't pretending to be powerful in the nicer office behind the arcade—to talk business. The meeting lasted just under an hour, and when they both walked out, both were pleased with the way things were going: Han was making bank and Takashi was none the wiser.

"Come meet my new boy wonder." The DK put an arm around his shoulders, leading him towards the cars. "Eddie!"

They rounded a work bench when Han heard the familiar sound of clattering metal and hard work. He watched a beaten sneaker poke out from under the '86 Corolla and slowly wedge out a pair of worn jeans and a flat torso.

 _Skinny kid._

When the boy scrambled to his feet, Han discovered he was tiny, too, maybe the size of a middle school child. Asian, probably Japanese, with the long bangs all the young people seemed to think stylish. Between the hair and a pair of large tortoiseshell glasses, Han could really only see the boy's button nose and small mouth.

"Han, this is Eddie." Takashi nodded at the scrawny boy. "Eddie, Han."

The boy bowed politely, keeping his eyes averted as a small, grease-blackened hand fumbled with the hair resting on his forehead.

"Hey, none of that." Han smiled. "I'm not old enough for that nonsense yet."

The boy's lips twitched into a brief smile.

"Got him a couple of weeks after he flew in from the US." Crossing his arms, Takashi smirked. He made the perfect picture of a tool. "He's holding up pretty well for an import."

Han scanned the boy over. The pallor of his skin and frailty of his limbs didn't exactly spell good health. He made a mental note to help the poor kid escape Takashi's garage for a large bowl of noodles sometime.

He nodded at the boy. "You any good?"

The boy shrugged modestly, his gaze never once leaving the floor.

"Of course he is," Takashi boasted. "I take only the best."

Han could have sworn he saw the boy roll his eyes.

 _Good. Some personality there._

"You don't talk much, do you?"

The boy just shrugged again, something the DK missed as he simply plowed through the conversation.

"A minor malfunction." He grabbed the boy's pointy chin and jerked his head around. Han stood a little straighter even though he wasn't quite sure where this sudden loyalty to the boy came from. "Imports always end up having some sort of imperfection, don't they?"

"Takashi, stop it." Heeled boots clicked against the concrete floor. Neela strode up to them from the other side of the garage to put a supportive hand on Eddie's shoulder. Even she, in all her Australian fierceness, seemed to dwarf the kid. "Leave him alone. He knows his way around a car and that's what matters."

Eddie shot Neela an impish little smile, one that made Han's heart stall for half a second—in fact, it hardly happened at all, he swore—with its lightheartedness and sincerity. It wouldn't bode well for anyone if Neela was sweet on the boy, but Takashi dismissed the little mechanic and pulled his girlfriend closer, murmuring a half-hearted apology to win back her favor.

* * *

He didn't expect to run into the boy the third time.

Errands weren't a thing he normally indulged in. Normally he just left a list for one of the high school kids to handle, but that option this time around would have left him with the paperwork. The forms were still waiting for him at the garage, of course, but avoiding them for a few more hours couldn't hurt.

He had just reached the Silvia when he saw the threadbare t-shirt and worn jeans standing on the other side of the street in front of a high-end accessory boutique. One last errand remained—picking up Twinkie's custom-order fuel injector for the gaudy Touran he was putting together—so Han decided it could wait a little bit longer and crossed the street.

"I hope you don't plan on getting those for Neela."

He watched the little mechanic jump and pull his eyes away from the glittery barrette display to stare wide-eyed at him. A while lollipop stick dangled loosely from the corner of that small mouth.

"She usually leaves her hair down," he continued. "It'd be a shame to spend so much money if it'll never be put to use."

Money wasn't an issue for Han, but he had a feeling the same couldn't be said for the boy. Knowing what Takashi paid his workers, especially those who were underage, Han could probably safely assume Eddie made just enough to buy lunch every day.

The boy nodded thoughtfully, turning back to the display.

"That, and the DK probably wouldn't be too happy."

Han got an amused smile for his little quip and found himself distracted by the way the boy's tongue moved the lollipop to the other side of his mouth. A chill swept down his spine when he caught himself. He wasn't normally such a pervert, honest. The boy wasn't even his type. Too short and too . . . male.

He cleared his throat. "What're you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be at the garage?"

The boy shrugged, lifting a hand to carefully rearrange his bangs.

 _Skipping on the job. Good for him._

"You hungry?" Han met the boy's curious gaze. "Let's get something to eat."

The boy hesitated until he said, "My treat."

Twenty minutes later found them sitting at the bar of an open-air noodle shop. Han watched the boy scarf down his udon even though he probably couldn't see much with the way the hot soup made his glasses fog up.

"Slow down, kid." Han had barely snapped apart his chopsticks. "You're gonna get indigestion."

The boy rolled his eyes—not that Han could see with his gasses the way they were—but his shoveling became a little less hurried.

"Don't your parents feed you?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on Eddie's lips, anchored by a bulging mouthful of food, as he shook his head.

Han frowned. He figured the boy's parents wouldn't care that much, but he didn't think they would be heartless. "Who're you staying with, then? Takashi?"

He shook his head again.

"You're not living on the streets, are you?" Concern racketed through Han, enough to make him set down his chopsticks and forget about his noodles for a moment. Eddie was just a kid. "I got empty bunks."

The boy sucked up another surprisingly large mouthful of udon, sat back, and regarded Han as he chewed. The fog on his lenses gradually dissipated; Han read exasperation and incredulity in the way his eyebrows were raised.

"Okay, okay." The older man relented and picked his chopsticks back up. "You're not a charity case, I get it."

Satisfied, Eddie nodded and continued to inhale his food. They sat through the rest of their meal slurping in silence until a text alerted the little mechanic to the fact the DK was finally told about his absence at the garage and was not happy. Han offered to drive him back, but the boy slipped away when Han turned his head to watch an incredible pair of legs walk by.

He chuckled and shook his head once he realized he had been ditched.

 _I like this kid._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Eddie leaned over the low dining table and placed a quick kiss on his landlady's cheek. Chiyo was a small woman, about his size, with sharp eyes and a stern mouth. She preferred drab cotton yukata over regular street clothes and kept her gray hair in a tight bun, cutting quite the imposing figure and consequently suffering no trouble from her tenants in the upstairs bedrooms.

"You be good," she told Eddie as he headed out the door. He simply grinned in response.

Han was waiting for him around the corner with the Silvia. The little mechanic never did figure out how the older man found his home address, but Eddie couldn't complain. It saved him a three-mile hike to work. Han had taken it upon himself to be his personal chauffeur; the veteran drifter knew a lot of sick people on the streets who would be more than willing to jump a little boy with a face as pretty as Eddie's.

He didn't do it out of sentiment—at least that's what Han told himself. He was just being an upright citizen. Albeit one who also happened to drive cars in an illegal manner and who stole from the yakuza, but Takashi barely made the bad boy cut, so it hardly mattered. And besides, two negatives make a positive, two lefts make a right, and the whole shebang. Han was basically on the side of angels.

Eddie found said man leaning against the driver side door tossing roasted peanuts into his mouth when he crossed the street.

"Need a ride?"

* * *

Burgers, being an American phenomenon, were overpriced and under seasoned in a place like Tokyo, Japan. If he wanted to be clever, Han would say they lacked the fine taste of staunch patriotism and the smoky flavor of liberty, but Eddie was too busy inhaling the non-Westernized beef and accompanying democracy-free bun to truly appreciate Han's wit. The little mechanic had even managed to get a smudge of ketchup—the red of the Grand Old Flag, Han mused—on the bridge of his glasses.

"Hey, I don't know CPR or the Heimlich maneuver or whatever, so if you choke, you're on your own."

Eddie rolled his eyes, caught sight of the ketchup smear mid-roll in a move that made his eyes cross in a way that Han tried desperately not to think of as adorable because the poor kid was already dreadfully cute enough, and swiped the condiment bit off with a dainty fingertip. All the while, the boy's small mouth never stopped working on the disappointingly heart-healthy red meat despite Han's warning.

He was hungry all of the time. That fact was one of the first things Han quickly learned about his new companion. It made him proud and concerned at the same time: proud because the only person he knew who could out eat him had a bear paw tattoo; concerned because with the size of the portions he ate, Eddie should have had the physicality of a linebacker and the ability to bench press two rhinos if he so chose.

Instead, Han wasn't even sure the little mechanic could hold his own in a fight against Reiko and her earring-pulling techniques. Eddie didn't wear earrings, thankfully, but his thin wrists would probably snap clean in half if so much as picked up a wrench one size too big.

Han lost sleep thinking about how skinny Eddie was some nights. Because he was an upright citizen, of course. No way the boy wonder ate regularly with the way t-shirts swarmed his scrawny shoulders and jeans folded over themselves around his legs when he walked. Wasn't there food in his kitchen? The boy wasn't homeless—with Earl's help, Han had tracked down where he lived, and Eddie was too clean to have lied about living on the streets. So why didn't his parents care about their son's frailty? Or was he living on his own? Maybe he couldn't afford to buy groceries. But wasn't there a minimum age to be an emancipated minor? Eddie looked twelve years old. He was way too young, right?

"Hey, how old are you?"

Two fries—not nearly salty enough like the ringing bells of equality—dangled from the little mechanic's chapped bottom lip when he looked up at Han. Three more were already in his greasy hands, unwillingly waiting to be consumed.

The boy shook his head, long bangs fluttering over a pair of furrowed brows. _What?_

That was another fact Han learned early on: Eddie didn't talk. At all. Not for a lack of things to say—the older man had never been sassed by a nose twitch before he met the boy—but simply because he didn't want to. And with Twinkie and his steady babbling stream of nonsense back at the garage, the comfortable silence around the little mechanic was . . . nice. Almost . . . accepting.

Anyway.

"How old are you?" Han repeated.

A protruding clavicle poked out from under the loose collar of his shirt when Eddie shrugged.

 _The hell does that mean?_

As nice as the whole mute thing was, Han also had an equal amount of appreciation for straightforward answers. Eddie, seemingly oblivious to Han's mild irritation, continued throwing tasteless food into his mouth.

"If you don't tell me, I'm just gonna have to believe you're a twelve-year-old boy."

Han got a snort and a small spray of half-chewed potato bits for his resigned remark but no real answer.

He sighed. "Fine, have it your way, kid."

And when the older man reached down for a cholesterol-friendly fry, his fingers hit the hard porcelain face of his plate.

Damn mechanic had stolen all of his food.

* * *

At the next race, Han found the boy wonder at the edge of the crowd sitting on the hood of someone's bright yellow Altima, looking hungry and tired. Takashi wasn't racing that night, but the sheer number of runs Morimoto had done likely brought the boy to his exhausted state. Takashi probably also dragged him to the garage straight from school and worked him through dinner. The DK could be a slave driver when he felt like it.

It took Eddie several moments to register Han's figure in front of him and several more bleary blinks to acknowledge the older man with a small smile. Han simply held out his opened bag of shrimp chips.

"Long day?"

The boy nodded, sticking his child-sized hand into the bag. He must have been too tired to be properly hungry and take more than just three chips.

Han frowned. "How much longer you gonna be here?"

A shrug.

"Want me to sneak you out?"

Eddie wasn't stupid. He knew Han was a man with a lot of pull, and he knew he was just an amateur to Tokyo's underground scene. He knew Han's interest and his concern were unusual, to say the least, and he knew people watched them with a weary caution. Takashi did in particular, the nagging worry of being replaced buzzing just out of his reach, but the little mechanic also knew when it came down to the real deal, nobody could touch Han and his American friends—his family.

By some odd, in-law, twice removed extension, Eddie was now a part of that family. Han had, for whatever reason, decided to take the boy under his wing.

"What d'ya say?" The older man took a seat on the hood beside him, making sure to keep the chip bag within easy reach between them. "Wanna bounce?"

Eddie shook his head. He really, really, terribly wanted to go home and sleep until the second coming of Christ, but he wanted to keep his job more.

Han sighed and made himself comfortable. "Alright."

They sat on that obnoxiously colored hood, lazily sharing the bag of chips and watching the outskirt fringes of the crowd stumble and laugh a little too loudly. The boy's head kept dipping in sleepiness, the frequency of each dip increasing until his head was bobbing like a buoy in a lightning storm. Han had just made the decision to throw the little mechanic over his shoulder and haul him home when—

"Han!"

Flowery perfume and glittery dresses and grabby, manicured hands swarmed the pair.

"Han, we missed you!"

"Where have you been?"

The man at the center of attention chuckled and slid an arm around the closest waist. "I've been around. Missed you ladies, too."

They cooed and pawed at him some more before they noticed Eddie.

"Aww, who's this?"

"He's so cute!"

"Is this your little brother?"

"No." Han smirked at the alarm quickly growing on the boy's face. He was awake now.


End file.
